


Upon the Wall of Myth

by voleuse



Category: Inception
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-06
Updated: 2010-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Graze on the grass of my exhaustion</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon the Wall of Myth

**Author's Note:**

> Post-movie. Title and summary adapted from Sohrab Sepehry's _From Green To Green_.

Ariadne returned to the warehouse every week, never expecting to see anyone there. Cobb had flown back to the States, and the rest of the team had dispersed, as well. She still had a year and half of classes and a thesis to write. (Miles had nodded knowingly when she confessed a change in her research objectives.) She had had a life before she became a criminal.

All the materials were still in the warehouse, save for the hardware and Yusuf's concoctions.

She circumnavigated the models sometimes, wondering what tweaks she could have included, and what corrections she could have made.

Could have, could have, could have.

One day, she shouldered open the lift door once again, and everything was gone. The models, the files, and even the furniture. It was like being shot in the heart: shattering and painless.

It took her a moment to recognize Arthur, next to the window. He leaned casually, one shoulder against the wall, and his lips twitched. She wondered what he wanted her to say. His eyes were all expectation, so she took the paradoxical route.

She stepped backwards, and slid the lift door closed again. If he followed her down, she never saw him.

*

She stopped for a baguette and an armful of lavender, and when she opened the door to her flat, Arthur was there. (She reached into her pocket. Her chess piece was there, cool and solid and right.) He was holding a branch of lavender, too, and laughed as they stood facing each other with their matching bouquets.

She set her purse on the stand by the door, and after a moment, twisted the deadbolt closed.

"That's not very trusting," Arthur noted from behind her.

She shrugged, then turned to face him. "You're still inside, aren't you?" She walked past him and into the kitchen area, placing the bread and flowers on the table before rummaging in the cabinet for wine. "Is there a job?" Her hand closed around a bottle, and she waited, held her breath.

"No job," he told her.

Ariadne's fingers clenched around the slim neck as she turned. "So what?"

Arthur was pulling the baguette from its wrapping, rolling it on its side as he reached to the counter, pulled a bread knife from its stand. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "I made bruschetta while you were at the market."

She stared at him, at his fingers dancing over the bread as he sliced. "What do you want?"

He paused and looked up, watched her watching him. She wasn't sure what he saw in her face, but he nodded before returning to his task. "It was too dangerous to leave the equipment at the warehouse," he told her. "Cobb wanted it cleaned up."

Ariadne set the bottle down, feeling empty. Feeling crushed. "So you just--"

"Not completely." Arthur set the knife down, then pulled a flash drive from his pocket. He set it on the table, between them. "The specs. Scans of your designs. Yusuf's stuff." He arranged the bread slices on the plate.

"Isn't that just as dangerous?" She uncorked the wine and filled two glasses, keeping her eyes on the splash of burgundy instead of the flash drive, instead of Arthur.

"Some encryptions aren't broken easily." Arthur sauntered to the dining table, setting the bread next to the bruschetta. "The files are protected."

Ariadne raised her eyebrows, and he grinned at her from his seat. "What's the password?" she asked, pocketing the flash drive.

"Ask me nicely," Arthur directed, and she handed over his glass of wine.


End file.
